


The Huntsman (Happened to be Passing By)

by Ryuutchi



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Gen, Police, Power Dynamics, Right and Wrong, Season/Series 02, Self-Examination Through Other People Telling You You're Wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:23:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryuutchi/pseuds/Ryuutchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was not the supportive discussion Nick was hoping for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Huntsman (Happened to be Passing By)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liliaeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liliaeth/gifts).



> Much appreciation due to Comixologist, for surviving my snits and making this the best fic it could possibly be.
> 
> This fic takes place some time between The Other Side and Season of the Hexenbeist.
> 
> [Originally written for the 2012 Grimm_Exchange.]

The Airstream was more comforting than it should have been, a small, uncomfortable space crammed with books and weapons, and potions, and more books. Its overcrowded aluminum belly called to Nick on difficult nights, always ready to welcome him with soft orange lighting and the rustle of old, stiff pages. Correspondence and other letters were stuffed into journals which were wedged onto shelves with more books and weapons and things Nick had no name for. Still, for some reason, he felt good here, and the scent of oiled leather and dust chased away some of the ill-defined guilt and frustration. He shut the door firmly behind him and turned to the shelves of books, running his fingers along the spines of tomes his ancestors had written in. They had helped him puzzle through cases, and that first shock of having his new Grimm identity thrust on him. Maybe there were writings here with advice. There were times it felt like he could bring any problems here, like the trailer was the only way to ask his aunt for guidance now that she was gone. When he needed to think through a puzzle, Nick went to the trailer.

Almost at random he pulled books from the shelves. After a few minutes, he realized that his fingers had mostly found personal journals. Some were large books, with dog-eared pages, and a few were slimmer volumes, clearly diaries of some sort. When he judged that he had pulled enough books, he set them on the table and flipped the first one open. 

He knew this book-- it was one of Robert McCormick's journals, the same one he and Hank had used to identify Pierce Higgins' species in the first place. Nick flipped the pages, until he came to the section on genio innocuo. 

'After sailing around the Islands for two days, we finally embarked and found a gentle race in residence. The most amazing thing about these shy, reclusive groups is that they were not afraid, having never seen a Grimm. I found them to be intelligent, compassionate and thoroughly nonviolent... which made the dispatching of them quite easy.'  
The same cold chill that he'd suppressed for Hank's sake when they found the passage came back with a vengeance, and Nick clutched the corner of the desk until the desire to rip the page out from the journal passed. 

Shunting McCormick's journal aside, he picked up the second book. This one was larger and heavier, and the leather cover was shiny from centuries of touch. The yellowing paper crinkled under his fingertips as he smoothed the first page. After the past year, he could recognize a few words of German, and he flipped through the book, trying to find a passage that he could attempt to parse. He was about to give it up as a lost cause when his eyes fell on a word he thought he knew. "Toten? That means... kill," he muttered, running his finger over the sentence. 'Ist est notwendig, sie zu toten.' It is necessary to slay them. He stared at the book for a while, as though by force of will he could change the words and make his forebearers into something they weren't. With unnecessary force, he shut it. 

The stack of journals he'd pulled down suddenly looked imposing, and Nick wondered what he was doing there. He knew that Grimms were supposed to be vicious hunters. Had he really thought to find something new in the writings his aunt had left him? He reached out, and pressed the palm of his hand to the cover of the next book. Would it say anything different?  Nick sighed, stretching his shoulders. He checked the time on his phone and set it to alert him when he was due on-shift. He wouldn't get any sleep tonight without finding a way to quiet the jumble of concerns in his head, so he refocused. Even if every book and journal said the same thing, the chance his answers would be there was enough to gamble the night's rest on. He'd look through them all, if he had to.

***

"Okay, okay. Thanks, Reilly. I'll call you back when I know something." Nick ended the call and stared at his cell phone for a moment, biting back a sigh. He leaned back in his chair, staring vaguely at the holes in the water-stained ceiling tiles above the central bank of detectives' desks. Light filtered in through the high windows in a way that would be soothing to absolutely no one, and although the constant radio chatter of the precinct building usually melded into a mildly comforting white noise, today the assorted office sounds and constant rumble of discussion seemed to settle behind his eyes and throb through his temples. He set the phone down and groaned, pressing his palms against his eyelids, trying to rub the incipient headache away. There was a lot going on in Nick's head, and too much work yet to do for Nick to take a break.

The feeling of a familiar weight settling against the desk next to him alerted Nick to his partner's presence before Hank spoke. "Who was that?" Hank asked, and Nick moved one hand so he could look up and make eye contact. Hank set one of the two full mugs of coffee he was carrying down on the desk next to Nick's elbow. The station's coffee wasn't great, but it was always highly caffeinated and could knock out a tension headache if consumed at high volume. 

"Jess Reilly. Do you remember her?" Nick asked, reaching for his coffee. He barely winced at the familiar bitter taste. Hank shook his head as he hooked his chair with an ankle and settled down into it. "She's Monroe's friend. Works at the Juvenile Detention Home, and did us a favor by agreeing to keep an eye on April Granger."  
 "The little Wesen girl?" Hank grimaced. April was a hard one to forget, what with the multiple homicides, Amber Alert, and having to explain to the DA that a nine year-old girl somehow managed to kill multiple men several times her size.

Nick nodded, sipping his coffee. The caffeine was slowly helping ease the pounding of his head. "That's the one. Jess knows the score, and teaches them self-control on the side. I thought she could help Pierce too." He shifted to turn his computer monitor slightly so Hank could read the screen. Nick had been getting news about Pierce that went from bad to worse, and it wasn't hard for Hank to read Nick's distress about it. That he was on the phone making calls meant something big had gone down. Nick pitched his voice low, and explained, "He apparently killed a guy yesterday. Put another one in the infirmary with injuries he's not likely to recover from for a while, if ever." 

Hank let out a low whistle as he read the report, and turned away from the screen. "They're isolating him. They might not let her in to see him - if he's in any sort of mood to take visitors, and that ain't certain." Hank sat back in his chair again, mug cradled in his hands, and eyed Nick. Their eyes met for a long moment before Nick dropped his gaze from his partner to the desk top.  
"You've been looking tired a while now," Hank said, keeping his voice casual. "How long's it been since you got a full night's sleep? Ten days? Two weeks?"

Forcing a smile, Nick glanced up to get a read on his friend, and meet Hank's eyes for a moment before looking away again. "Well, you know. The couch isn't exactly comfortable." He huffed a sigh, eyebrows arching, but he could still feel Hank's stare like it was boring into him. 

"Sure," Hank said. For a long moment they just sat there silently, the clips of conversations, and sounds of office machines filling up the space between them. Nick didn't look up because he didn't have to. He'd seen the intent expression on Hank's face before, like there was a puzzle he was trying to find the proper way to solve. The moment stretched, and Nick took another drink of coffee in an attempt to drive away the urge to say something that would make Hank stop looking at him like a suspect in interrogation. "So you feel responsible for Pierce's problems."

The coffee Nick had been in the process of swallowing was inhaled, and he spluttered, coughing. "Hank--!" Hank leaned over and smacked him on the back a couple of time, not particularly helping. Nick waved him away and finished coughing. Once he could breathe properly again, he cleared his throat. "I'm not," he began but the lie caught in his throat. "I promised to protect him so he wouldn't have to use that part of himself again," he said instead. "I lied. If he doesn't use that part of him, he's going to get hurt badly." Nick rubbed a hand over his forehead.

Hank leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "We've put kids away before, Nick. Sometimes they're just too violent for juvie." He tilted his head, giving his partner a sympathetic look. "It always sucks. I know you want to help all the Wesen you can, but sometimes you've got to let the system do its job, just like you would for any human kid."

Nick shook his head, not arguing, but not agreeing, either. Hank was right, though. They had arrested more than one teenager during their career. It was never pretty or pleasant, but it happened and Nick had never felt this gut-wrenching responsibility for it before. "They're not human, though. What if we keep putting wesen away just because they're not like humans?"

"Are you saying that we should have let that kid go one killing people just because he's different? Because if that's how you think our job should go, I'm not sure you're clear on how the justice system works." Hank gave Nick a wry look and patted his shoulder. "We're not putting them away because of what they are. We put them away because of what they did. In this case, anyway." Hank was about the last person to suggest that the system they operated in wasn't problematic, but he sounded unconvinced.

Nick leaned in towards Hank, so he could fully voice his concerns. To some extent, Nick didn't entirely trust himself or his ancestral abilities, and Hank would help him untangle it as best he could. "What if I shouldn't be judging them by our standards? I mean, we're supposed to protect and serve, and what if we're doing it wrong for them? What if they need something that I can't give them because I'm too busy being-- being a Grimm, or we're just not, I don't know. Looking at them the right way. Maybe we're being too human, thinking about them like they should be human, or--"

The friendly hand on his shoulder gave him a swat. "And how else should we judge them, man? This is the system we've got, and you've worked pretty well in it up until now. It's pretty simple: don't do something illegal and we won't arrest you." Hank pulled away and crossed his arms, glancing around the station to check if anyone else was listening in. When it was clear no one else was looking their way, he continued, "is this some Grimm crisis of conscience? 'Cause you should get your head on straight about this. We're just doing our jobs man. It sucks, and it's going to make you feel guilty, I know that, but that's being a cop, not being whatever the hell else you are."  Nick nodded, but Hank clearly could read the dissatisfaction on his face. Hank sighed, and took a long drink from his coffee cup. "Remember the Wesen you know on the straight and narrow, Nick. Sure, in some cases, like Pierce's, there are special circumstances, but most of them aren't compelled by forces they don't understand to do whatever it is that brings us into their lives." Hank set his coffee on top of a file already graced with two coffee rings from other days. "Maybe Munroe or Rosalee has a better perspective on this than I do, but you gotta remember your friends when you go down that path. All the Wesen you know are living on the up-and-up ought to be proof that they aren't inherently bad. They can respect the law. Just, think about that."  Nick listened, but needed some time to digest what Hank was saying. He had his morals to wrestle with, and still had work to do if he was going to try to change Pierce's life for the better. "Thanks, man. I think I need a walk or something." Hank nodded and waved him out the door before turning back to the stack of unfinished paperwork their current and recent caseload had generated.   "If you love me," Hank said casually to Nick's back, "You'll bring me back one of those danishes from the shop." Nick rewarded Hank with a weak laugh, wondering at the fact that Hank appeared to believe in Nick's abilities to get through his Grimm concerns more than Nick did.

***  
Nick stepped outside. He'd hoped that the air would clear his head, but he still felt like his mind was buzzing with disembodied worries. Snatches of Hank's words floated in loops through his mind, pausing just long enough for Nick to try to formulate the wordless disagreement that gnawed at him, before starting up again and knocking down the unsteady arguments. There was a maushertz running a food truck in front of the station, and he bought a can of cola, popping the tab and sucking it down more for the desire to perform some physical motion than any thirst for the drink. He managed a weak smile for the truck's proprietor, who made a low squeaking sound that Nick pretended not to notice. 

Hank was right-- maybe it was time to talk to someone with a more personal connection to the problems Nick was wrestling with. Monroe might be able to help. Nick remembered the look of confused fear on the blutbad's face the first time they'd met, before Nick knew anything about being a Grimm, though. Monroe could tell him that for a Grimm, Nick was a good guy, and that for a Grimm Nick had never hurt wesen without need. Nick imagined the questions he wanted to ask, the ones welling up inside him, about arresting wesen, putting them through a human system of justice. 

Nick turned down the street towards the donut shop, dodging the pedestrians that were always coming and going outside the station, with the ease of long practice. He didn't have to think about the movements, and since his mind was whirring with thoughts of questions he wanted answered, that was a good thing. He stretched his legs, hitting the emptier streets as he moved further from the station.

Still, the more he thought about it, the worse his ideas seemed. Monroe wouldn't be able to answer those questions. He kept his head down and his nose clean as much as possible. Just because he knew Jess and other wesen in the system didn't mean he could help Nick answer questions about putting wesen in the system. As he reached the donut place, Nick realized with a start that Monroe was probably working at the spice shop and wouldn't be home.

The spice shop... And then Nick knew who would understand the balance between the Wesen world and the justice system.

As quickly as he could, Nick purchased a cruller for himself and a blueberry cheese danish for Hank, and headed back outside. There was a small kid's park a block and a half away that Nick knew would be empty this time of day, so he headed in that direction. Sure enough the park, a lot with colorful foam padding instead of concrete, a swing set and a sign warning people without children not to loiter, was deserted. Nick settled onto a bench painted with cartoonish dragons and knights, and fished his cell phone from his pocket.

As the call rang through, Nick started to second-guess himself again. The call connected before he could do much more than wonder if she was going to be okay with talking about this, if she was really the right person to ask, when a pleasantly alto voice asked, "Hello?"

"Erh, hi. Rosalee. It's Nick."

"Nick! Is everything alright? Is there a problem?" Rosalee's voice pitched low, worried, and Nick realized just how tense he likely sounded. 

He cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders, trying to work the tension from his shoulders. "No, everything's fine. I-- how's your aunt?"

Sounding suspicious, Rosalee said, "She's doing much better. What's all this about?" 

Nick opened his mouth and then, unsure of how to proceed, closed it again. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. Do you have some time, because I really want to get your opinion on something." He settled back in his seat and glanced at Monroe's house, hoping he was right about the spice shop. If he came out of the house right now to see Nick's car idling, he might get worried.

"Uhm, sure. Shoot. If there's something you need brewed up, you know you can talk to Monroe, though. I promise he's not too terrible at it. Anymore." The fondness in her voice was obvious and Nick felt a pang in his chest, remembering when Juliette used to sound like that about him. 

He shook off the thought. "I need some professional advice," he said, "but I don't know how to, uhm... I've been working on a case. There's this kid, and he's went from being in a bad situation I got him out of to being in a different bad situation, that I got him into. I really, I think I can change this kid's life, I think I can help him, and I want to do that, but I'm not sure exactly how I should... if I should approach it. You said you went through a rough patch, but got through it... what was the change, could you have accepted help from a cop? A Grimm?"   
Rosalee paused a moment, thinking about that. On the other end of the line, Nick could hear the sound of a door being shut. "I'm not sure I would have accepted help from either. I'd never met a Grimm before you, and everything I'd heard about them was violent. And as for the police..." She stopped.   
"As for the police?" Nick prompted.

"I'd met them, and generally we didn't get along."

"Oh." Nick tapped the fingers of his free hand on the snout of a dragon adorning the bench's arm, trying to figure out what to ask next. "I promised him I'd keep him from getting hurt again. But he murdered a couple of people. Didn't mean to, but. I promised I'd help him stop."

"What happened?" Rosalee asked.

"He's ended up in prison," Nick said. Rosalee sucked in a breath. "He's being held and charged as an adult. He got accosted by a couple of guys in jail and ended up killing one of them. I don't. I don't know. I want to help him, and keep my promise. I want to be a cop, not a Grimm. I want to help, not hurt people."

Rosalee didn't say any thing, although something Nick got the distinct impression that what he'd said struck a nerve. He could hear her rapid breaths and imagined the woge-- the way her face changed into something foxlike and inhuman when she was upset or caught off guard. "I'm not going to say that what you're doing is the right thing; you're a cop. If he thought you could actually do what you promised him, then he's naive, and probably never dealt with the police before."

Nick's fingers clenched, nails scraping the arm of the bench. "What is that supposed to mean? I'm doing my best--"

"I know you are, but helping people is a bonus when it comes to being picked up by cops, Nick. Most of the time, if we've been good, and lucky we just make it out of the encounter in one piece. If we're really lucky, it's a positive experience, but it's not exactly something I hold my breath on."

Nick felt like he'd been sucker-punched. He tried to form a coherent defense but he couldn't quite manage to even his breathing, collect his thoughts, and form them into words.

"I didn't mean for it to come out that way," she said finally. "You're a good man, Nick, but you've got power. Being a Grimm is power, but being a cop is more power. You're the one standing in the way of someone's life being ruined, and you get to make that call."

Forcing the words out, Nick said, "I wanted him to be given a chance for rehabilitation. I didn't have any power over this."

"Do you know what it's like--," she checked herself, taking a deep breath. "Cops don't get to make promises, Nick. Grimms can make promises because you're in charge of being a Grimm. There's no system. If you're dissatisfied with the way Grimms work, you can change it. You're changing it right now by talking to me. Grimms are a natural law of their own kind. Being a cop means working within a system that isn't friendly. it's not friendly to Wesen and it's even friendly to humans. If you put someone in that system, you had damn well do it with your eyes wide open, because a Wesen kid in that system isn't going to get the help you want to give them unless you make it happen." 

"I'm trying to make it happen! He went and got himself into even more trouble, and that's making it a little difficult. I just want to do the right thing."

"So it's not an easy system to work with. You have to remember that the right thing for you might not be the right thing for us. If you're really worried about him, and not just feeling guilty and sorry for yourself, do what you have to do. If you want to be a regular cop and ignore what happens to people once you've done your job, go for it. But if you want to be that idealized defender of Wesen the local Eisbibers think you could be, then you're going to have to stop thinking about what it means to be one or the other and put in the work to change the system. Both of the systems." Rosalee swallowed hard. "Look, I, Nick, I should probably go check on my aunt. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Right." The phone clicked and went dead. Nick pulled it away from his ear, staring at the home screen for a few moment, waiting for his pulse to slow. He could hear the blood in his ears, and, like the conversation with Hank, he wanted to disagree, wanted to form a coherent argument but her words ran in short loops, ramming right through the excuses he tried to build. "Fuck."   If he wanted something to change, he was going to have to change it. 

***  
Captain Renard's door was ajar slightly, which, thankfully, meant he was both in and unoccupied with serious business. Nick rapped his knuckles on the door frame sharply, and stepped in without waiting for an answer. "Captain."

Renard glanced up from his keyboard, hands jerking slightly as though Nick had startled him out of some revery. "Detective Burkhardt. How can I help you?" He shut his laptop with a click and clasped his hands on top of it. 

Closing the door behind him, Nick moved towards the desk and caught Renard's gaze. At first Nick thought there was something odd about the Captain's expression, but after Renard cast a quickly flickering glance away from Nick and back again, it was gone. Nick wondered if he'd imagined it. "I have a favor to ask, sir. Hank and I arrested a teenager who was recently sentenced to serve time as an adult, and I was hoping you could help me get someone in to see him in prison."

"Can't you arrange that with the warden yourself?" Renard asked.

"He has violent spells, and killed another prisoner, so they've put him in solitary," Nick said. "I'd been hoping to arrange a few meetings between him an a juvenile corrections officer I know of. She works with troubled and violent youth at the local juvenile facility. But because of the recent problem, they don't want to let him out to meet with anyone." He watched Renard's face, trying to figure out if he had a chance with this. While the Captain tended to let Nick do as he pleased, Renard wasn't always willing to go out on a limb for his detectives when it wasn't necessary. Nick had decided to count on Renard's support this time, and was doing his level best to win it.

"He's mentally unstable?" Renard leaned slightly back, steepling his fingers as he considered the situation.

"Pierce is violent when he perceives a threat. But Jess Reilly has experience with violent youth. I don't think she should have a problem, and if he has support he might not be as aggressive. It seems unfair to allow some youth access to people who understand, and not others."

Renard made a thoughtful sound ant tapped his fingernails on the desk. "You don't have to make your case to me, detective. I think I can make a quality-of-life argument for a teenager in an adult facility to be given access to mental health support. I'll make some phone calls."

"Thank you, sir. I know you don't have unlimited strings to pull." Nick's expression flooded with the relief of having set things in motion. He only hoped this movement would help Pierce, in the long run.

"My strings are only as effective as I can make them," Renard warned, even as he offered Nick a serene half-smile. "I obviously can't promise you anything, but I'll do what I can. If I can arrange for your friend to have access, I will. You can owe me one."

***

Jess was sitting at a table in the corner when Nick walked into the coffee shop. It was happy circumstance that saw them both off-shift at a reasonable hour. She'd found a seat which afforded her a decent view of the entire shop, and smiled slightly when she spotted him. He slid into the seat across from her and she pushed a cup towards him. "Best latte in town," she said, lifting her own cup for a sip.

"Thanks." Nick took the cup gratefully, and wrapped his hands around it. "So."

Jess arched her eyebrows.

"I talked to my Captain. He's pulling some strings to get you access. I'm sorry it's taking so long." Nick sighed. He turned the cup in his hands. All he wanted was to get Pierce in contact with someone who could do right by him. Or at least give him a chance.

"Well, you know what they say: the wheels of justice grind slowly but extremely fine." She shrugged up a shoulder. "No matter who it's grinding." 

"I feel bad for him. I was hoping he'd be able to work with you more closely." Nick finally took a sip of his coffee and made a pleased sound. It was as good as advertised even if the entire day was making his stomach twist.

"There are plenty of people like him in jail. There will be other people who can teach him how to control himself," Jess said. She tipped her head, watching Nick, and he was reminded of old nature documentaries of lionesses. He wondered if he smelled like a prey animal and fervently hoped not.

"Not people who care about his well-being. Other convicts aren't exactly the same."

Jess barked a laugh. "Don't be stupid, Burkhardt. I'm exactly like the other people in there with him. The only difference is that I got out early enough to find a useful place in the system." She waved her empty hand in a small circle that indicated the cafe, the city and the job in one motion.

"Still, you'll do him a lot of good. Having someone who got out and can control herself. Just be careful, okay?" Nick frowned, remembering the last lowan Pierce had taken on. "I know you can both take care of yourselves, but I don't want to put either of you in a precarious position."

"Aww, that's cute. Are you worrying about me? Your concern is better spent on the eisbibers." Jess grinned, showing all her teeth. "Remember that feeling, though. And remember that you might worry about us, but you've got the power here."

"I don't want to make people afraid of me. And I don't want to make anyone's life worse."

She finished her latte and stood up. "You're a cop, and you're a Grimm. Just because you're not using your power doesn't mean you can ignore that it's there."

"Is that what you're going to tell Pierce?"

"That depends on him."

***  
The smell of old parchment and stale coffee welcomed Nick back to the the trailer. The books he'd pulled out the night before were still in a messy pile on the desk and he glared at them without much heat. With one hand he pushed them off to the side, and the stack leaned precariously against a dirty plastic case of oddly notched throwing knives. He had an important duty left to do, before he could return home to the warm embrace of the living room sofa.

He set a bag on the desk and rummaged through it, pulling out and setting aside a box of pens and another of pencils. Next to those he set a hardcover, leather-bound notebook. He set his bag aside and settled into the chair. He turned to the first blank page of the journal, selected his preferred pen from the box, and wrote the day's date.


End file.
